Crafted for Life

Klättermusen Story

Naked Truth

The naked truth behind the scenes

Every story has two sides to it. This is our Creative Lead’s take on “Crafted for Life.”

I read a lot about mountaineering and expeditions. After all, I’m the advertising guy. But I have found myself not paying too much interest to heroic tales of conquests, discoveries or being the first. No, I’m drawn towards failure and hardship. I obviously don’t have a morbid urge to gloat at tragedy. I mean, it’s not like I enjoy people dying on K2. The reason why I continuously indulge in stories about deterioration and defeat is rather to keep my ego grounded at all costs. The worst thing imaginable for me, would be to find inspiration and plant the poisonous seed of thinking ‘I could do that’. I know that, as soon as I start imagining myself on the summit of Mount Everest, or reaching the South Pole on skis, I’m done for. I know my limitations and I know my place. I’m the one who comes up with the stories and then find other people that actually live those lives to tell them. After all, I’m the advertising guy.

When I’m told that I’m the one going to Svalbard, in charge of documenting the trip of two experienced mountaineers and their craft, I freeze. Not by the thought of the low temperatures (I will find out about that later), but because of one thing; polar bears. I immediately Google ‘How to not get eaten by polar bears’ with non-satisfying results. My colleagues laugh at me and tell me how jealous they are. All I can think of is stories about failure and hardship.

I immediately Google ‘How to not get eaten by polar bears’ with non-satisfying results.

Simon, Creative Lead Klättermusen

I arrive at Longyearbyen Airport with my four enormous haul bags. One being my own over-packed bag with way more stuff than I need for a week in the arctic circle. After meeting up with the production team and our guides it’s time for an almost five-hour snowmobile ride away from civilization out on the glacier. To me a five-hour bus ride or flight can send me into unease and complaints about legroom. The transportation feels like a mixture of a magic carpet ride and a rollercoaster with only a handlebar behind me as safety precaution. At this point I’m kind of smitten with the beauty of the vast Svalbard landscape. This is my first rookie mistake. As beautiful as she is, Svalbard is an evil, cold stepmother that after her initial warm welcome starts making it clear how unwanted you are in her home if you’re not one of her “own”. And after all, I’m just the advertising guy.

“Has anyone seen a big black bag?” - I ask around the tent. It’s our first morning out on the glacier and it’s been a cold dark night in the camp and my overpacking has been proven to be a stroke of genius since I’m wearing everything, I brought on me at the same time. “Yeah, it’s on one of the sleds” a crewmember replies. But it’s not. It’s not in the tent, outside the tent, on any of the sleds behind the snowmobiles or even in the (polar bear) secured food supply storage.

The bag containing most of the Klättermusen equipment we’re here to use has vanished in thin cold air. It takes a full production day to find it. Not anywhere on the long and deserted trails back to Longyearbyen, but on Facebook, with clear instructions of where it was found and where to pick it up. Crime is very low on Svalbard, maybe because of the hazards of getting away with things when living in such a remote place. Or maybe people are just more honest there. One day lost is ok. That’s more or less expected on trips like this. I try to maintain a positive thinking and I’m glad that we got the bag back. Tomorrow is going to be a great productive day, I think to myself and crawl into my sleeping bag to fall asleep to the soothing growl of our lifeline, the generator. The only problem is that it’s not growling anymore.

It’s -40 degrees Celsius and our generator simply can’t take the cold. After another lost production day (from finding a new generator), the only thing that keeps my spirit going is the fact that I wasn’t the first to crack under pressure. What I have though, are initial frostbites. Large blisters have started to form on my fingertips, and I quickly realize a lack of feel in them. ‘Not my fingertips, anything but my fingertips’, I shout in my mind. I really need those, they’re my livelihood! After all, I’m the advertising guy.

Not my fingertips, anything but my fingertips’, I shout in my mind. I really need those, they’re my livelihood!

Simon, Creative Lead Klättermusen

At this point you’ve hopefully seen the documentation of this trip. What you have seen is the reality. But reality has many layers to it. Behind the beauty and the stories, there are always other stories. That’s what makes them interesting. An experience is always subjective to each individual person sharing it. What to some people are mere everyday obstacles, can for someone else be unclimbable mountains. At one point, I felt that this would be my contribution to my beloved failure literature. To come back with nothing to show. That would have changed the narrative completely. Without the visual story, this would have made me an actual participant of an expedition rather than an insignificant observer. It would have stripped me of the moniker ‘the advertising guy’ and put me as an equal adventurer. In this case my failure would have been my success story.

Unfortunately for me, I succeeded. I brought something back to show you. Hopefully you like it and if you don’t, remember that there are stories to the stories. And speaking of that. If you buy me a beer, I might tell you the latrine story. An anecdote with all the components needed for an epic tale: fear, suspense, exposition, and fire. A dramaturgy captivating enough to keep any at ears. After all, I’m the advertising guy.

Simon,
Creative Lead at Klättermusen

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